Chime Hours
by chinquix
Summary: It's said that children born at midnight have the ability to see ghosts. Arthur believes this with every fibre of his being. Alfred isn't so sure.
1. Prologue

**Haha, yes, another USUK fic~ **

**Please read the author's notes, they'll hopefully explain a lot ^^;**

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Alfred Jones had always stood out. At 5 years old, he was louder than other children, far more mischievous, always wanting to be the centre of attention. At kindergarten, he was the envy of the class, thrilling his playmates with tales of the amazing adventures he embarked upon; fabulous stories of dragons and pirates and aliens, and how he, the Hero, would always save the day. At home, his parents marvelled at his energy as he darted through the house or the garden, his younger brother Matthew often in tow. His mother would gloat about her son's 'charismatic and engaging personality', and how it was such a shame that Matthew, introvert that he was, seemed to show none of these traits. Alfred was coddled and spoiled rotten by his parents and neighbours alike, and his life would have been absolute bliss, had it not been for one unfortunate factor.

Alfred could see things that weren't supposed to be there.

Since a very young age, he'd been aware of certain entities that no one else appeared to pick up on. The glimpse of a misty figure passing round a corner, a glint of eyes in the darkness, or occasionally a ghostly face or two. At first, he would rush to his parents or a teacher after such an encounter, sobbing and whimpering. But he received little more than a comforting nod and the assurance that there was nothing there, that he was just imagining things. After a while, Alfred grew to realise that he would find no true solace from these adults, and so was left with no one to confide in but his brother. Matthew would listen silently to the older boy's garbled accounts, believing him completely, but even then Alfred wasn't satisfied; Matthew could listen, but he would never really _understand_.

The days weren't hard. Alfred found distractions in the games he played, the lessons at preschool, the cartoons on TV. But when it was time for bed, and the silence and shadows crept in, he would find himself gripped by terror. At night, there were no diversions to keep his mind from the creatures that lingered within his vision. His dreams were plagued by haunting apparitions. Nightmares were frequent. Even the nightlight that flickered benevolently by his bed became something to fear; a burst of hell fire, or a will-o'-the-wisp**[1]**.

So it came as a surprise to him when, one night, he dreamt of a field full of pink roses**[2]**. Blue eyes wide in bewilderment and wonder, the boy slowly turned on the spot, taking in the serene environment.

"Oi, you gonna stand there spinning all day, or what?!"

A young voice startled him out of his reverie, and Alfred nearly tripped over his own feet in surprise. He shielded his eyes against the sun and glanced upwards. A small boy around his own age was stood on the crest of a hill, gazing down at him with arms folded. He was wearing a flowing green cape, with wild blond hair that stuck out at numerous odd angles, giving him the appearance of a scruffy cat, and even from this distance Alfred could make out his striking green eyes, and even more striking eyebrows. He blinked.

With an annoyed sigh, the other boy strode down the hill towards him, a heavy scowl distorting his features. He stopped just short of Alfred, apparently greatly annoyed by their difference in height as his scowl deepened when he had to look upwards. He jabbed at Alfred's chest with a slender finger.

"And what do you think you're doing here, exactly? Who are you?" As he spoke, his obviously British accent became clear, ever so slightly marring his suspicious words. The elegant voice seemed far beyond his years, and didn't match with his immature appearance. Alfred could only gape for a moment, before finding his voice.

"I...ah, I'm Alfred...?" he offered. "This...is my dream, isn't it...?" He was rather confused. Why was this stranger demanding to know his business, when this was _his_ dream?

The other blond also seemed bemused now. "Dream? I don't think so. I'd know if I was dreaming." And with that, he stomped off in the opposite direction. Alfred hesitated, then ran after him.

"Wait! I don't know your name!" he insisted upon catching up with the Brit. The boy turned to give him a condescending look, before rolling his eyes.

"It's Arthur.." he muttered, then jumped when Alfred shoved his hand forward. The child was grinning now.

"Nice to meet you, Arthur!" he exclaimed, snatching Arthur's hand and shaking it violently. Arthur spluttered indignantly, snatching his hand back.

"Wish I could say the same...Alfred..." he grumbled.

**oOoOo**

From then on, Alfred dreamed of that field every night, and Arthur was always there waiting for him. The Brit was rude and seemed constantly irritated by Alfred's presence at first, and the American was somewhat cautious of the whole scenario, but as time went by the two gradually came to relax around each other. Alfred learnt that Arthur came from a big family, and was often ignored by his parents and siblings, so the experience had left him incredibly bitter for one so young. However, he also realised that the (slightly) older boy had a kind personality deep down, along with a love for all things magical. It had amazed him to discover the faeries that occasionally followed Arthur, and even more so the knowledge that here was someone else who was _just like him_, who could see the things that no one was supposed to see. The revelation thrilled the both of them, though Arthur was better at concealing his excitement. A friendship was surely and steadily formed between the two.

Now, Alfred no longer feared the night time, knowing that his new found friend would always be there for him.

That was, until one night, when Arthur disappeared.

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**A/N: I'm been feeling extremely eccentric/British over the past few days, possibly because of my Doctor Who induced high and the fact that I have two weeks of no school, so when I found out about these things called 'chime hours', I couldn't resist turning it into a fanfiction. Basically, in english folklore there's this belief that if you're born at a certain time, usually midnight, you'll have the ability to see ghosts and the like. The prologue was meant to be a lot shorter than this, but it didn't go to plan. I'm terribly sorry with the fluffiness of this, I swear the rest of the story won't be anything like as bad ^^; It shall have lots of ghosts and mystery and general english mythology.**

**Just to warn you, though the prologue is set in America, the rest of the story will take place in England. Something to do with the fact I feel more comfortable writing about my own country, I suppose...or that I'm terrified I'll insult someone with my portrayal of America based entirely upon what I've seen on tv. Yeah...**  
**Ugh, I'm so sorry. Once again, I'm writing a complete load of nonsense...**

_**[1] will-o'the-wisp - ghostly lights sometimes seen above marshes or swamps.**_

**_[2] pink roses apparently symbolise friendship...I think._**

**Please review! I'll give you scones!**

**~Chinquix  
**


	2. Chapter 1

**So sorry it took a while ^^; Oh, and here's some virtual scones for all those who reviewed the prologue!  
**

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**Alfred let his forehead rest against the window, relishing in the cool sensation of glass against his skin. Beyond the double glazed panes, the sky was it's usual autumn grey hue, the threat of rain darkening the clouds even further. From his lofty vantage point, he could see above the rooves of the surrounding buildings, his gaze catching on the odd sweet wrapper or discarded tennis ball; long forgotten trophies from years past. He sighed softly, his breath frosting the glass.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Jones, am I boring you? Or is there something so truly rapturing out there that you simply couldn't tear your eyes from it?"

The sarcastic voice sliced through his wandering thoughts, and Alfred jolted back to reality. He met the gaze of his English teacher, a plump woman with tightly curled hair, whose generally placid expression was replaced with one of annoyance and mild amusement. The entire Sixth Form class was turned to look at him. Alfred felt his face flush.

"N-no, Miss, I was just...uh..." He failed to find an appropriate excuse. "Sorry," he gave a sheepish grin, rubbing the back of his neck self-consciously.

"Hm...well, next time, pay attention," the middle aged woman continued in an accent generally attributed to the richer areas of Greater London, affectionately named 'Queen's' or 'BBC' english, a collection of Victorian poetry clasped in her hand. "Now, the Bronte sisters. We'll do a little bit of group annotation first, then I'd like you to go through some of the highlighted texts yourselves..."

Difficult as it was, Alfred managed to remain focused for the rest of the lesson. He jotted notes down in his various exercise books and folders, as well as underlining and annotating in his own copy of poetry. Eventually, the bell for the end of the period rang. He scooped the papers and notebooks haphazardly into his bag, ignoring the teacher as she shouted something about how the lesson still wasn't finished, and made a dash for the door. The long corridor of the English block bustled with students of all ages as they made their way to the stairs. Though the Sixth Form itself only catered for those aged 16-18, it was part of a much larger secondary school, meaning pupils could be in anything from Year 7 to their final year of college.

Alfred had started the Sixth Form only a week previously, the beginning of the new school year, along with the other 16 and 17 year olds who'd applied for the college. However, unlike his fellow students, Alfred not only had to adapt to a new school, but also a new country. In many ways, England wasn't that different from America. The culture was roughly the same, and the language was identical if you ruled out accents and slang terms. However, he couldn't ignore the fact that this was nothing like home.

Swept up in his thoughts and the crowd of British children, it wasn't until a chill breeze caused him to shiver that Alfred realised he'd left the building and was already halfway across the school grounds. Blinking, he shook his head clear and adjusted his bag strap, then pushed through the throng towards the gates.

"Alfred? Alfred!" A voice called, almost lost amongst the eager chatter of the students. Alfred frowned and swiveled on his heel, his height enabling him to see easily over everyone's heads. A flash of blond hair swam into view, then a flustered face much like his own. Alfred grinned.

"Mattie! There you are!" A group of girls nearby giggled at his accent. Ignoring them, he grabbed his brother's arm and heaved him closer, provoking a yelp of surprise from the younger boy.

"H-how was your day...?" Matthew asked timidly, rubbing his arm. Alfred gave an obnoxious laugh.

"Ha, awesome, as always! It got a little boring towards the end, but I'm a Hero, so I got over it!" The younger of the two rolled his eyes, but smiled fondly nonetheless. Of course, Alfred didn't bother to ask him how _his_ day had been, but having spent his entire life with his brother, this didn't come as a surprise. The brothers settled into step beside each other, and fell into a comfortable silence.

Alfred was studying a rare patch of blue in the otherwise dreary sky when something caught his attention. Walking alone, passing just outside of the heavy school gates and ahead of the crowd sauntering towards them, was a young man.

Alfred paused. There was something about the stranger that captured his concentration; perhaps the way he walked, tense and defensive, as if he was being hunted. Suddenly, inexplicably, the man turned and gazed right at him. Alfred caught a glimpse of heavy eyebrows pulled down into a scowl, a mouth set in a thin line and green eyes that widened slightly as they passed over him. The two stared at each other in silence. The American felt as if he was frozen in place, the world falling away behind him, and could find no reason for it. That scared him.

A frenzied tug at his sleeve broke Alfred from his petrification, and he stepped backwards, blinking rapidly. Matthew was staring at him with a concerned expression. "Alfred, are you ok...? You kinda zoned out for a minute there..."

"...huh?" Alfred replied unintelligently, still a little taken aback by the experience. "Oh, uh, yeah Mattie, I'm cool..." But he frowned regardless. Rubbing the base of his neck in confusion, he spared a glance back towards the gate. The young man had vanished without a trace.

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**A/N: Uh, I'm a little tired at the moment, so I can't seem to remember what I was going to write here.... If you have any questions about anything, feel free to ask...I genuinely forgot to mention Matthew was appearing in this story xD The chapters for this story are going to be quite short, but there'll hopefully be a lot of them.  
**

**Also, slightly off-topic, but I'm thinking about maybe accepting fic requests...is anyone interested?**

**Once again, reviews = instant love ^^**

**~Chinquix  
**


	3. Chapter 2

**Again, I apologise for the wait ^^;**

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**The days passed slowly in England. Alfred felt that everyone was moving at half the pace they should be, lingering over irrelevant details, or sharing lazy conversations about such inconsequential topics as the typical dreary weather and how 'PC' was getting out of hand. He himself rejected the lethargic lifestyle, preferring instead to keep active and boisterous; unfortunately, this behaviour often resulted in disapproving glares from his teachers, fellow students and the general British public.

Alfred, being the optimist that he was, never let this get to him. His confident and friendly personality, if a little irritating, attracted all manner of attention, and he was soon the centre of several social circles. By the end of his first month at the British school, he was well known throughout the Sixth Form, and even in some of the lower years as well. Matthew, on the other hand, hadn't been quite as well received.

"Excuse me, do you think you could-"

"So, you cycling home tonight?"

"Um, I said-"

"Nah, my mum's picking me up. She's gettin' off work early."

Alfred watched the proceedings in amusement, before eventually deciding to intervene when his brother's face turned a disturbing shade of frustrated red. He pushed off from the stone wall he'd been leaning against, sauntering over to the gang of teenagers who were blocking Matthew's way.

"Hey guys, think you could let my brother get past?" He clapped a hand heavily across the shoulder of one of the boys, leaning in with a wide grin. The nearest of the group blinked, surprised when he noticed the nervous blond hovering behind him, then laughed warily at the taller American, waving his hands in front of him.

"Oh, sorry mate, I....didn't see your brother there..." The group shuffled to the side, casting the odd glance towards the two. Matthew sighed, almost pouting.

"Am I really so hard to notice?" he lamented, but Alfred was no longer listening. He was instead scouring the road ahead of them, just beyond the gate, a small frown on his face. The younger brother sighed, worried. The past few weeks, Alfred hadn't been quite himself, and there was something about this street that seemed to fascinate him; every time they passed it, he would run his gaze up and down as if searching for someone, before looking away, disappointed. He'd long given up asking his brother who he was looking for, as he never obtained a legitimate reply.

"Alfred, _Matthieu_! _Attendez-moi, mes amis, je marchera avec vous!_" Matthew jumped at the voice, flushing slightly, and Alfred seemed to be pulled from his reverie. His face settled into an irritated scowl.

"Oh great, it's Francis...what the hell'd he say, Matt?" Alfred groaned. The Frenchman had attached himself to the brothers, especially Matthew, shortly after they'd joined the school, despite being in his final year of Sixth Form. Alfred disliked the way he stared at his brother with that lechorous look in his eye.

As Francis got closer, Matthew hissed to his brother, "He said he wants to walk home with us." Alfred's face fell further.

"Uh-uh. No way." Then he raised his voice, loud enough for Francis the hear, "C'mon Matt, we gotta hurry, mom'll be expecting us..." but he was too late, as the bearded blond had reached them and fallen into step beside Matthew.

"Ah, _mon cher_, no fear. I will not slow you down. I just wanted to ask you a question..." He addressed Alfred, who was now looking slightly ill. "_Détendez, _Alfred, it is not what you are thinking," Francis laughed leisurely, then his tone became more serious. "_Non_, what I wanted to ask you was...ah...well, _vous voyez_, I noticed you seem rather interested with that road over there," he nodded towards the lane Alfred had been inspecting, "and I would like to ask, what about it captures your attention so?" Alfred gave him a bemused look.

"Uh, I dunno...well, I thought I saw this guy down there a few weeks ago, but..." he trailed off, and Matthew gave his brother a concerned glance. It was rare to hear Alfred so unsure of himself.

This revelation seemed to disturb Francis. "...'e was blond, _oui_? With green eyes?" Alfred's own eyes widened.

"Y-yeah, and big eyebrows! Why, d'you know him?" The hint of excitement was clear in Alfred's voice. Francis, however, shook his head.

"_Non_...all I know is, 'is surname is Kirkland." His voice dropped, until it was almost a whisper. "No one seems to know 'im. There are rumours that..." he paused. "There are rumours that 'e is a _fantôme_. A ghost."

Alfred paled considerably. "Haha, yeah right...a g-ghost? Surely you don't believe that, r-right?" Francis gave him an unreadable look. A shiver went down the American's spine. But then, the dark glint in Francis' eyes disappeared, and he straightened, smiling.

"_Non_, Alfred, I think it is nonsense. After all, there are no such thing as ghosts, _oui_?"

Alfred swallowed, casting one final glance down the empty street. "Yeah. No such thing..."

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**A/N: Sorry, this chapter's pretty much drabble...if it turns out the way I planned, the next few chapters will hopefully be a lot more interesting (and longer .). I was listening to "Ruby" by the Kaiser Chiefs while writing this, and I just had an image of Arthur playing the guitar solo...it made me laugh xD Imagining him with a Yorkshire accent was even better...  
**

**_Attendez-moi, mes amis, je marchera avec vous! - _Wait for me, my friends, I'll walk with you! (or something...)**

**_Détendez - _Relax**

**_Vous voyez_ - You see**

**'PC' is political correctness. This was included as my Aunt came over to stay recently, and all she would talk about was how you had to watch everything that you said nowadays in case you offended someone, and that being politically correct was the most important quality in a person. It got quite tiring after a while ¬_¬  
**

** Thanks for all the lovely reviews so far~! If I get enough reviews, I may write a bonus chapter. Huzzah, free scones for all!  
**

**~ChinquixWolf**


	4. Chapter 3

**Slightly longer than usual, as it's going to be a while before I post another chapter.**

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Alfred darted upwards, flailing and panicking in the darkness. Gradually, reality reinstated itself, and the American eventually calmed down, though his breaths still came fast and heavy. He slid a large hand down his face, groaning, then screwed up his eyes and scrutinised the glowing face of the alarm clock beside his bed; 4:00 am. Exhaling, he dropped his head back down onto the pillow. But the disturbing images of the nightmare that had woken him continued to haunt him, and sleep would not come, so, admitting a sigh of defeat, he reached over to turn on the lamp. And almost cried out in fright.

There was a shadow by his bed; a distinctly _human _shaped shadow. He had barely a second to make sense of it before whatever it was scrambled wildly out of sight, seemingly as startled as Alfred was. He lay for a second, frozen, then threw himself out of bed, grabbing the lamp and holding it high above his head, like some sort of weapon. He panted, eyes wide, searching for the intruder. He had no idea how much time passed as he stood in the middle of his room, stock still, but finally he relaxed slightly, lowering the arm brandishing the lamp. A night breeze blew through the open window. The shadow, whatever it had been, was long gone.

**oOoOo**

Alfred had spent the majority of the morning in a brooding silence. It had been years since he'd had a nightmare like that, and the idea of some stranger in his room also worried him greatly. He hadn't bothered his parents with it; after all, nothing had been stolen, and Alfred himself hadn't been harmed. Not to mention, he wasn't exactly sure if his 'visitor' was even _real_. But still, he was troubled by the experience. Matthew shot him a concerned glance every now and then, disturbed by his brother's lack of enthusiasm as they made their way to school.

"...Alfred," he began hesitantly, after several minutes of the uncomfortable lull in conversation, "did something happen last night...?" This caught the elder's attention, who immediately looked up, startled.

"Why d'ya ask?" he queried, a little too abruptly.

Matthew shrunk back slightly. "W-well, no reason, really....I just thought I heard noises, and you seem a little...preoccupied..." His voice sounded hurt, barely above a whisper, and Alfred felt a tinge of guilt.

"Nah, Matt, it was nothing," he flashed a smile, trying to cheer up his younger brother, and nudged his shoulder gently. "I'm fine, don't worry about me," he thrust a thumb at his chest, "after all, I'm the he-" Matthew blinked as Alfred cut off mid-sentence and halted abruptly, blue eyes widening behind his glasses. Before he could ask what was wrong, his brother was suddenly sprinting ahead, a sense of urgency plain from the way he ran.

"Hey, Alfred?!" Matthew called, alarmed. His cry fell on deaf ears.

Alfred had seen him again; the young man called Kirkland, heading away from him down that same track. His body kicked into action of its own accord, and he found himself racing after the strange blond, something inside tellling him to _keep up and don't lose him! _He had no idea what was going on, or why he felt such a compelling need to reach the young man, but the speed at which he was running left little time to ask questions, as the burning of his throat and lungs and the single thought process demanded his undivided attention.

A short few seconds ago, trees had begun to close around him, and now the path grew dark with their shadows despite the morning sun. Alfred slowed to a jog, his quarry mere metres away from him, and his breaths were so loud that he was astounded he hadn't yet been noticed. His mind finally caught up.

_'What am I _doing_?!' _Was the first coherent thought that came to him. He blinked rapidly, looking over his shoulder. The main street was out of sight, hidden round a corner, leaving Alfred alone with the blond. Who _still_ hadn't noted his presence.

He was at a crawling pace now, reluctant to get too close. Alfred wasn't sure what to do; should he turn round and head back to face a bemused and, most likely, annoyed Matthew, or call out to the green eyed youth? Though Francis' talk of ghosts had frightened him more than he cared to admit, it had also inspired curiosity about the man known simply as 'Kirkland'. He wanted to know _who_ he was. Steeling himself, decided, Alfred stopped walking and opened his mouth to yell some kind of greeting, then see how it it went from there. However, little more than a small croak left his lips, as Kirkland suddenly paused. Alfred froze. Had he finally been spotted? But no, the other male's attention wasn't on him, but a small bridge up ahead.

Squinting, Alfred could make out the movement of Kirkland's lips. He appeared to be murmuring something, but there was no one other than themselves nearby, and he certainly wasn't talking to _him_. A scowl graced the short blond's face, obviously displeased with something.

Alfred watched, increasingly perplexed, as Kirkland manouvered himself into an unenthusiastic yet oddly graceful bow. Then, the American let out an unintentional gasp. Something shimmered in the air above the bridge. It was only visible for a second, but there was definitely _something_ perched on the low stone wall. Kirkland remained bent over for a short time after the anomaly vanished, before straightening himself, nodding jerkily towards the wall as he crossed the bridge, rounding the corner on the other side. And just like that, he was gone.

Alfred could do little more than gape. He had the disturbing feeling that he had just witnessed something he wasn't meant to see, something secret and _different_. But as alarming as this sensation was, he couldn't ignore the excitement and anticipation that bubbled with it, the adrenaline now coursing through his blood and the urge to _follow_. He took a step towards the bridge.

"Alfred!"

The American blinked. Then frowned. He turned round, pulling himself away from the direction in which Kirkland had been heading, and was met with the furious-yet-concerned face of his brother. Matthew had run after him.

"What the hell was that all about, eh?!" The shorter of the two panted, hands resting on his knees as he caught his breath.

Alfred gave him a blank look. "I..." He couldn't think of anything to say after that.

After several minutes of silence, Matthew threw his arms up, exasperated. "Oh, never mind, let's just get to school...we're late enough as it is..." He grabbed his brother's arms and proceeded to drag him back down the narrow street towards the school. Alfred mentally noted with mild surprise how strong his brother could be when he was angry, but then his thoughts inevitably wandered back to the blond and the bridge.

_'Who are you...?'_

_

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_**A/N: So, like I said, I'm taking a bit of a break from this for a while, as I have a load of final exams coming up, plus preperation for an expedition I'm going on in the Summer...please be patient ^^;**

**If you're curious as to what the 'ghost' is doing by the bridge..umm...look up British folklore....**

**Once again, thanks for all your reviews and comments!**

**~Chinquix  
**


	5. Chapter 4

**Forgot about this chapter...^^;**

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It was the weekend. Alfred was making his way down the High Street, a plastic carrier bag brimming with groceries gripped in his left hand. His parents had sent him down for provisions once they'd realised the fridge was getting rather empty, insisting that he should get out for some fresh air after spending the majority of the morning upstairs in his room on some video game or another. Alfred grumbled under his breath. He _would _spend more time outside, if there was anything to _do_. As it was, the sleepy village provided little entertainment for a young man of his age. The children's play area didn't count; even if the bright paint had attracted him more than he'd like to admit. What also annoyed him was that Matthew had managed to weed his way out of the morning chores thanks to some hockey match, or something of the sort.

His mood hadn't been helped by the old woman working at the till in the local store. She'd watched him with eagle eyes the whole time, obviously convinced he was planning on shoplifting, and given him a cold stare when he'd fumbled with the foreign coins, counting out the correct change. Now on his way home, a rare glimpse of sunshine caused his spirits to lift slightly, having always enjoyed the feeling of the sun on his back. He heard a shout from behind, and turned, still walking, to see one of the boys from school cycling down the road towards him. The other boy waved as he passed, and Alfred returned the gesture, grinning in his usual exuberant way, and began to think that maybe the day wasn't turning out so bad after all. However, he was still looking in the wrong direction, so didn't notice the small figure hurrying down the street until he strode into him.

"Oh, geez-!" Alfred cursed as he barreled into the stranger, his momentum sending the shorter man flying. The brown bags the figure had been clutching shot across the path, spilling their contents, and Alfred's own bag split open, resulting in a chaotic mess of trampled groceries, jars and sachets. Babbling an apology, Alfred scrabbled at the ground to retrieve their purchases. "Oh man, I am _so _sorry..." he turned to hand the bags to the stranger, then halted abruptly. Wide green eyes shimmered up at him from behind a golden fringe, huge brows arched above them, and the young man's entire frame shook with apparent terror. Alfred opened and closed his mouth, words dying in his throat. Then, with a cry, the small blond leapt to his feet, snatched the bags from Alfred and made to run past. Galvanised into action, Alfred spun round at the same time and grasped his arm, rendering escape impossible. "W-wait!" he gasped, "you're Kirkland, right?!" His captive thrashed wildly, avoiding his eyes and scratching at his arms. "Please, listen!" Alfred pleaded, and there must have been something in the tone of his voice, as the teen calmed slightly, turning to face him, though still struggled against his grip. His chartreuse eyes glinted questioningly. Alfred almost flinched from the suspicion and distress in their depths. However, he willed himself to look away, straightening his posture.

"So...you _are_ Kirkland?" No answer, just that deep gaze. Then, a minute nod of the head. Alfred swallowed. "Ok then, uh, it's just I've...seen you, walking past the school, you know...?" he gestured lamely in the general direction of the school, hand twirling in meaningless circles. Kirkland angled his head slightly to look at him better, no longer fighting against Alfred's grip; he seemed genuinely curious, almost hopeful. His pose gave him the appearance of an inquisitive cat. Searching for the right words, Alfred found himself releasing the other boy, slowly, and was strangely reassured when he made no move to flee. Suddenly redescovering his confidence, the American thrust his hand forward. "I'm Alfred!" This provoked an odd look from Kirkland, one which he couldn't define. There was a pause. Then;

"I know."

The words were so soft, Alfred had to strain to catch them. "...What did you say?" he asked, finding his own voice had now sunk to little above a whisper, eyes lidded in a slight frown. Kirkland himself seemed surprised by what he had said. He chewed the base of his lip, anxiously, glancing around as if he was scared someone was watching, then scowled at Alfred in a way that seemed vaguely familiar.

"I _said_, I know. I know who you are." Then he mumbled something that sounded like "bloody stupid git", before turning smartly on his heel and marching in the opposite direction. Alfred gaped, then made to follow.

"Hey! Wait! You didn't tell me who you were! And what do you mean, you know who I am?!" His voice cracked with frustration. With an audible sigh, the green eyed man paused mid stride, and spoke without turning around.

"It's really not important. If you want my advice, you'll forget this ever happened. Don't get involved." His tone held threat, yet also something akin to concern, some sort of warning. He spoke once more, voice gentle now in contrast, before walking away.

"And my name's Arthur."

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**A/N: So short orz I apologise profusely. I hope this chapter has enough going on in it...re-reading it, I find it a little less exciting than I'd hoped...but anyway. They finally meet~! Sort of. Oh Alfred, so clumsy...xD **

**On another note, anyone who has read StWUd...I'm afraid it won't be updating for a while. I'm going to focus on this story for now, as I've got a better idea of the full plot...sorry if there's anyone desperately waiting for an update on that ^^;**

**Thank you all for reading so far! Reviews for a stressed-out Brit who's worried about the political security of her country right now...? **

**~Chinquix  
**


	6. Chapter 5

**Uh...sorry...? *dodges tomatoes* I didn't mean for it to be this late T-T**

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_Arthur._

Alfred stood in the street, staring at Arthur's back until it was well out of sight. Pedestrians passed by, frowning at the teenage boy on the path, some huffing in annoyance as they manouvred their way around his still form, while others looked on in concern.

_Arthur...Kirkland?_

Eventually, a brunette woman approached him. She tapped him on the shoulder, gently, then with slightly more force when he didn't respond. "Excuse me?" she chirped. "Excuse me, but you're in the way..." Alfred ignored her. The brunette's gaze darkened, and she was about to say something else when she was interrupted by a sigh.

"Elizaveta, leave him," a bespectacled man muttered, massaging his forehead.

"But-"

"No buts, Elizaveta. I'm sure he'll be fine. Now come on, we're wasting time..." Elizaveta gave one last glance towards Alfred, unconvinced, but followed her husband, albeit a little reluctantly. The boy's mind continued to wander, trying to remember where he'd heard that name before, but his efforts were to no avail. However, Alfred F. Jones was not going to accept defeat so readily. Eyes suddenly flickering from their vacant expression to something altogether more determined, his fists tightened and he slipped into a confident stride, heading after the strangely familiar young man.

He thanked whatever divine power watching over him that Arthur had continued along the main street, ignoring the many paths splitting away from it and tangling their way through the English town; with his fast pace and long legs, Alfred had already gained enough ground to be able to spy the Brit's short form not too far ahead. Spurred on by this turn of luck, he quickened his stride into a jog. He was about to call out to Arthur, intent on solving this sudden mystery of half-remembered names, when he realised the abrupt change in atmosphere. The world suddenly seemed duller, though the sun was still shining with as much intensity as was to be expected of the region; it was more as if the colour and warmth was being filtered out, a notion that silenced Alfred immediately and sent an uneasy shiver along his spine. Normally, he would have laughed it off as superstition. But he was beginning to doubt that normality had _anything _to do with this situation.

And then he saw the house.

The American's stomach plummeted, hairs on the back of his neck raised in the primeval instinct that _something was very wrong here_. The building was low, crouching, a malevolent aura emanating from it that just dared anyone to come closer. It had a thatched roof which would have looked quaint on any other structure; grey stone walls sloping sharply over arched windows; an ancient wooden door that looked just about ready to fall down; every part the fairytale cottage, yet haunted with a bitter undertone. Strangely, amidst his fear, Alfred was momentarily reminded of Arthur.

A curse sounded, and the almost hypnotic spell of the house was broken. Eyes swivelling, he once again focused on the figure of the Brit, who appeared to be struggling with a set of keys, streaming profanities at the offending tools. The image was so comical, and so mundane, that Alfred felt his recent terror retreating to the back of his mind, to be replaced with a bark of laughter. The grin froze on his face when the sound echoed like a rifle shot.

Arthur froze, shoulders raised defensively, and he turned. Oh so _painfully_ slowly (like in a horror film, Alfred's mind supplied unhelpfully), his incredulous expression was revealed, shock giving way to pure fury.

"You. Utter. _Idiot_!"

His hands were thrown into the air with the last word, fingers curled into claws which complimented the cat-like yowl his voice had erupted in. And then came the rant.

"Y-you...I can't believe that you...why would you do something so _stupid_? Did you completely shut off when I warned you earlier, or are you just so _brain dead _that the entire concept of threats is lost on you? Oh, you just _had_ to stick your nose in, didn't you, no concept of privacy whatsoever...I swear, I've never met _anyone _so...so..." Arthur's arms flailed wildly as he searched for the appropriate term. Apparently, his vocabulary didn't stretch far enough to cover his ire, as he settled with a mere meaningless snarl. "Urgh!"

Alfred had more or less shut off at the word "stupid", and it took him a minute to acknowledge that the fuming young man in front of him had finished, and was now glaring with an intensity capable of sending the toughest man cowering. Alfred, however, was unperturbed; he felt a growing sense of self-assurance, though God knew where it came from. "You done now?" he asked innocently, cocking his head, "only I kinda need to talk to you. Like, _properly _talk to you". Arthur's mouth fell open in response, and he struggled for words, before his shoulders finally slumped in defeat, glare settling to a low simmer.

"Fine," he responded in monotone, his entire presence altered drastically with the failure to turn this arrogant American away. He indicated with a nod over his shoulder that Alfred should follow him into the house, then slipped through the, now mysteriously open, door almost imperceptibly.

Fear once again gripped Alfred at the sight of the darkened hallway, gaping like a cavernous maw. He was quickly spurred into action, however, when the heavy door began to creak shut. Breath hitching in his throat, he darted forwards, slipping past the door and into the cottage just as it slammed behind him. He had expected to be plunged into darkness, so was surprised when instead he found himself surrounded by a soft glow, exuded from some unknown source. Arthur was stood at the end of a corridor that now stretched before him, looking considerably less intimidating; in fact, Alfred would even go so far as to say that the light gave his features a delicate look. He quickly banished the thought from his mind. Nevertheless, he couldn't deny the vulnerable look in his host's eye, and he suddenly realised what a strange situation he'd placed himself in; inside the house of a stranger (a part of his memory protested at the term), after following him without permission, practically _stalking_ him, and demanding answers to questions he didn't yet know. His eyes widened slightly at the realisation, and his earlier bravado quickly abandoned him.

"Uh..." he began, voice unsure. "I, uh, guess this is your house, then...?" He rubbed the back of his neck self consciously. Arthur gave him an odd look, probably confused at the change or personality. Then the nervous expression returned.

"We have to be quick," he muttered, and Alfred had to strain to catch the near-whisper, "they don't like that you're here-"

"They?" The American interrupted. His curiosity was rewarded with a scowl.

"Yes, _they_. Faeries, Spirits. Ghosts." Alfred visibly flinched at the term, about to cover his show of weakness by laughing it off as Arthur trying to scare him, when he caught the other man's eye. Arthur was serious. He swallowed.

"I understand you have a lot of questions," the older blond's tone changed once again, gaining an almost oracular quality, "but I won't be able to answer all of them. Truth be told, I shouldn't be speaking to you at all. I'll be punished for this." He spoke in cold fact, though Alfred noted the barely concealed bitterness in the statement. "But..." he cleared his throat, casting a guilty look at something over Alfred's shoulder, then gestured hurriedly towards a room beyond a doorless archway to his left, "I think if we go in here, it would be safer." Though Alfred could think of no plausible reason as to _why_ the room should provide a safer environment, and was more than a little sceptic of the current circumstances, he nevertheless accompanied his scruffy-haired host into what could only be described as some form of lounge.

The walls were covered with cheery, pale green paint, separated into two halves by a strip of patterned cream wallpaper. A modest fireplace took up most of the wall opposite the entrance, flanked on either side by tasteful floor lamps that diffused the vaguely disturbing glow of the hallway, and a single armchair sat like an island in the midst of the carpet. Alfred was dimly aware of the fact that there was no way a room of this scale could exist within the meagre cottage, but the majority of his attention was now captured by the wall-mounted, 100 inch LCD TV that gleamed smugly before him. His jaw dropped (and at this point, a certain Brit mused to himself that it was a sad world when technology was favoured higher than magic).

"If you'd prefer to ogle electronics, I suggest you visit Currys," the Brit snapped tersely, nerves and impatience getting the better of him. It seemed to work, as Alfred snapped his gaze away from the screen, managing to look both guilty and confused simultaneously.

"How come you can afford all this stuff?" he pondered out loud, then realised Arthur may assume this was one of his 'questions' (he was following the line of thought that if Genies provided wishes in threes, perhaps Arthur would do the same with granting him answers), and quickly made to rectify the mistake. "A-actually, that doesn't matter, I don't want to know that!" He shook his head frantically and waved his arms in order to prove his point. He received a glance in return which clearly stated 'Congratulations, I'm now doubting your sanity'. Arthur sighed, then stalked across the floor, collapsing gracelessly into the lonely armchair and curling a hand to support his chin as he scrutinised the American. Alfred blinked uncomfortably and looked away, face heating up beneath the stare. Finally, Arthur spoke.

"So what are your questions?" he asked, voice now soft. His guest wasted no time in responding.

"How the hell do you know my name?" he blurted, slightly shamed at the desperate feel to his words. He didn't retract his words, however, and glared at the strange young man before him with eyes that sparkled determinedly.

He wasn't expecting the hurt look he gained in return. Green eyes regarded him sadly. "You really don't remember, do you?" Arthur answered with another question, though it was so quiet he may simply have been talking to himself. He blinked slowly, glancing away and then back again. "We met in a dream."

Silence.

Then; "You're joking, right?" No response. Alfred groaned. "Oh man, if you're gonna start spurting all that crap about prophecies and destiny-"

"It's not _crap_," came the indignant retort, "And if you're implying that I'm some sort of fortune teller, then you're very much mistaken. You asked me a question; I answered, and truthfully I might add, so if you're just going to sit there and _mock_ me, you can leave _right now_, Mr. Jones! Heaven knows it'd save me a whole heap of troub-"

A crash resounded in the hallway. The Brit paused mid-rant, eyes like saucers as they drifted towards the source of the disturbance. The dark beyond the doorway swallowed up everything, giving no clue of a foreign presence, but regardless both of the current human inhabitants instinctly knew they were no longer alone.

"Shit," said Arthur.

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**A/N: Um, does the (very) slightly longer chapter make up for my failure at regular updates? No? Alright, feel free to kill me then. If anyone is still reading this, thank you so, so much for your patience T-T To be fair, I have had a lot of stuff going on recently...exams, a month long trip to Ecuador, prep. work, A-level studies...but yeah, it was terrible of me to leave it so long to finish this ^^;**


	7. Chapter 6

**I apologise in advance for this short and terrible chapter ^^; I'll make up for it with a longer one next time!**

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A high gurgling whine escaped Alfred's throat, which he quickly tried to cover up with a boisterous laugh. Even to him, it sounded ridiculously forced. "N-n-nice try, Arthur," he crowed unconvincingly, "As if I'm gonna fall for s-something like that..." But Arthur hadn't even turned to face him; he was still staring wide-eyed out into the unlit hallway. The American swallowed around a suddenly dry throat, and shifted ever so slightly closer to the armchair Arthur was currently inhabiting. So maybe this wasn't some kind of practical joke, then. Once several seconds had passed without incident, and he'd worked up enough courage to say anything to dispel the quiet, Alfred cleared his throat in order to demand some kind of explanation. He instead found himself silenced by a sudden, slim hand across his mouth.

"Can you _please_ be quiet for once?" Arthur hissed frenziedly, having jumped out of the chair towards his guest, panic gleaming in his eyes. If Alfred hadn't been completely terrified before, he was now. His whole body trembled with the repressed urge to flee, and, noticing this, Arthur snatched his hand away from the taller blond's lips as if it had been burnt. He paused, before awkwardly placing it on Alfred's arm, attempting to soothe the teen in hushed whispers interjected with a few nervous glances over his shoulder. "Ah, n-no, it's alright, just calm down now, Alfred, that's it. No sudden movements, you might provoke it-" he instantly regretted his last words as the American let loose a horrified whimper. He cursed. He wasn't used to this, comforting people, and it seemed he wasn't very good at it either. If he didn't quieten the idiot soon, they'd both be in serious trouble...he groaned, exasperated, and considered the options. If he could get to the pantry at the back of the house, where his herbs and potions were stored, then maybe...he made to turn around and creep across to the doorway, but he felt something grab at the back of his shirt. Spinning round, he sent a glare at the young man clinging desperately to the fabric.

"W-where are you going?" Alfred half-sobbed, and Arthur shook his head frantically in order to hush him, making shooing motions with his hands. But, instead of letting go, Alfred only tightened his grip. Arthur growled with frustration. The boy was more trouble than he was worth; he should _never_ have let him in the house.

"You damn fool, let me go...!" he muttered, engaging in a futile attempt to disentangle the American's fingers, which only resulted in Alfred stubbornly hauling Arthur closer to him. They were soon engaged in a muffled game of tug-of-war. But eventually the sounds of the struggle, no matter how hushed they were, attracted the attention of the hidden creature, which had fallen silent some time ago. Now, it let out an excited yowl and slipped into the lounge, its entrance marked by a flickering of the lights. Arthur froze. He could see it just out of the corner of his eye, curled in the shadows created by the dimming lamps, shifting every now and then impatiently. Beside him - shocked by the momentary darkness - Alfred mewled, a wretched, vulnerable sound. It didn't suit this tall, well-built young man at all, and for some reason this fact inspired a righteous anger within the Brit. Finally tearing himself away from Alfred's now slackened grip, he stepped carefully towards the intruding spirit, green eyes smouldering even as he bowed to its hunched figure. Red eyes glared back.

"_Leóf bogart, þu you bist áscyhhest mín cuma__*****__,_"he murmured to it, making sure to keep his tone respectful and conceal his distaste.

The creature snarled a reply. "_Swá you scolde ne þu you oe hine, bearn__******__._" The last word was spat out as an insult. Arthur's nostrils flared, his eyes narrowing.

"I didn't invite him!" he protested, slipping back into modern english, which he knew the beast understood just as easily as the Old Language. He was rewarded with an animalistic snigger. It was then that he noticed that Alfred was now standing at his side, pointing a trembling finger into the darkness.

"There's something there," he said, eyes wide. Arthur cursed at him, demanding he move away, but the American didn't seem to hear him. "There's something there. I can hear it, I-I can _see _it...!" His voice shook, though no longer with fear. In fact, Arthur would almost say it was wonder, maybe even relief. Sure enough, a second later the tall blond let out a breathless laugh. "I can _see it, Arthur!_"

With growing alarm, the sandy-haired Briton watched as Alfred pushed past him, closer to the creature in the shadows, all signs of terror having vanished moments ago. "Alfred, you bloody idiot, don't get too close to it!" he cried, desperately trying to gain his attention. What on earth was he doing?

"Hey, come out here, I'm not gonna hurt you," the American was almost crooning now, and Arthur experienced what he thought may have been a mild heart attack as he watched the teen crouch to the floor, and realised that he was trying to coax out what he must have thought was some kind of friendly, domesticated animal. That was enough. In a feat of rare strength, Arthur lunged forward and snatched at Alfred's sleeve, shoving him back down into the armchair and out of harm's way. He then turned to face the shadows, arms spread protectively to shield the boy behind him. To his surprise, however, the glowing eyes now had a playful quality to them.

"_Fægere, ce cniht springeþ gegegnian mec__*******__..._" it tittered to itself, before clambering to its feet.

With a hiss as it crawled into the light, the boggart revealed itself.

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**A/N: Urgh, shortest chapter yet, I'm sorry T-T It just wouldn't come out right. Oh, and if I carry on with this the way it's going at the moment, there's going to be a hell of a lot of chapters xD I'm also considering writing a sequel/other fics in this universe...  
**

**So, so, did you guess it was a boggart...? **

**(Rough) translations of Old English: *_"Sir boggart, you are scaring my guest"_ **_"Then you shouldn't have invited him, child"_ ***_"Well, the boy wants to meet me..."_**

**As always, thanks for reading, and I love reviews~! _  
_**


	8. Chapter 7

**Sorry for the long wait ^^; I had a load of exams orz**

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It was small. That was the first thing Alfred noticed about this supposed 'boggart'; its head lifted no higher than his own knee. It had sleek fur that shifted into several shades of blue when the light caught it, four long, slender legs ending in tiny paws, pointed ears and whiskers, and a tail that twitched every few seconds. All-in-all, it resembled little more than an oversized domestic cat, hardly something Alfred would describe as intimidating. Its eyes, however, were narrow and red, impossibly ancient and full of malice. It caused him to shiver, and now he partially understood Arthur's fear. Despite its harmless appearance, this was a monster.

From his current position, laying sprawled in the chair where Arthur had shoved him, Alfred felt entirely helpless as the boggart continued to gaze at him. Whatever spell the creature had previously held over him dissipated completely, the childlike wonder replaced with some sort of terrified respect.

"Ok..." he managed to stutter out eventually. "Now you've kinda lost me completely."

Arthur spared him a quick glance over his shoulder. The shorter blond chewed his bottom lip, though whether out of iritation or unease, Alfred couldn't tell. This was starting to turn into a Mexican standoff, he thought to himself; the Brit, the Yank and the Kitty. He let out an hysterical little giggle at this, whilst simultaneously chiding his own mind for coming up with such a terrible spaghetti Western-related pun. _Now is _not _the time, Alfred._

He hoped he wasn't going mad.

It seemed that Arthur had the same thought, as the next time he turned to face him he was frowning, bemused, no longer quite so focused on the cat creature in the corner. The boggart itself had appeared, up until now, to be perfectly content with maintaining the silence. It had been watching the looks exchanged between the two with what must have been amusement. It was starting to grow restless, however, unsheathing its claws when it realised it was no longer the centre of attention.

It hissed something in the language Alfred couldn't understand, then suddenly the lights were snuffed out and the hiss grew into something ferocious and wild, a twisted guttural snarl. It seemed to gather the darkness around itself, moulding the shadows, shaping and reshaping itself; a raven one minute, then a lion, a hag, a _dragon_. The creature couldn't seem to decide on a single form. Alfred curled his sweaty palms into fists, pulling himself up and over the back of the chair until he fell into a heap on the other side of it, curling into a protective ball. He hadn't seen where Arthur had gone. And as much as he hated himself for it (he was supposed to be a hero, after all!), at the moment, the Brit's safety was the _last _thing on his mind. His attention was purely directed towards keeping as far away from the..._thing _as was physically possible.

But it seemed his efforts of escape were in vain, as a cloud of smoke sank down beside him, forming once more into the boggart's original appearance. The cat grinned up at Alfred, something he would have found creepy in any situation, let alone the fact that he'd just seen the apparently harmless creature before him morph into varying degrees of monstrosity. Besides, the smile was far from friendly. It spoke again, only this time it was in english, with a curiously Northern accent; a fact Alfred's mind helpfully supplied amidst his panic.

"Now listen 'ere, brat," it began, and Alfred realised for the fist time that it was _female, _"I went through all the trouble of revealing myself ta you, only for you ta ignore me completely for favour o' that feckless _twit_." She indicated her head at Arthur, who was apparently rooted to the spot by an unseen force. "And, jus' so you know, there's nowt I 'ate more than bein' ignored. Nex' time, I think it'd do you good ta show me a tad more respect, aye?" The American could do little more than nod dumbly. Seemingly satisfied, the boggart mewled in approval, before dissolving once more into a black mist. Before she completely disappeared, however, she gave one last piece of advice.

"I'd stay away from t' boy, if I were you. Green eyes is a sign o' bad luck." She winked, then was gone.

Although he would deny it later, Alfred fainted.

**oOoOo**

"_Now _do you understand why I didn't want you here?"

Alfred groaned, not least because of the pounding headache he'd woken up with. Really, he'd only been unconscious a few seconds or so, according to Arthur. He was sat on the armchair nursing his forehead, a slowly cooling cup of tea grasped in his palms, the Brit knelt on the floor with his hands resting on the arm of the seat. He didn't have to be able to read the atmosphere to know that the shorter blond was angry. _Really _angry. His abnormally large brows were forked downwards, mouth set in a grim line, and his knuckles had turned white with the force at which he was clutching the material of the chair. Alfred could only guess that the reason he had yet to explode with fury was out of sympathy for the American's situation.

"No, not really," Alfred said by way of reply to Arthur's question, though he knew it had been rhetorical. Incredulous, the Briton jolted his head up to meet Alfred's eyes, but was stopped before he could say anything. "I mean, _obviously_ you have a problem with that, uh...boggart thing...and wow, a boggart, _seriously? _Aren't they supposed to be magical or something? But you still haven't explained to me what's going on here! Like, why was it so obsessed with showing itself to me, and why's it so angry, and...why'd it say I shouldn't be around you? 'Cus you're hardly _dangerous, _I mean look at you, you're all scrawny and-" A huff cut him off. He paused mid-rant to divert his attention back to Arthur who, to Alfred's surprise, was looking strangely dejected.

"...You're right," Arthur sighed reluctantly, standing up and brushing imaginary dirt from his clothes. "I really do owe you an explanantion, now that you've seen so much..._which_, I hasten to add, was entirely you're fault." Alfred started to protest, but was silenced with a hand. "What you just witnessed, Alfred, was indeed magic. And I don't want you to start denying that, not now," he added a meaningful look for good measure. "However...it's late. I'm sure you have family waiting for you, and what I have to say will take some time to explain. So I suggest that, for tonight, you leave. Come back tomorrow, in the morning perhaps. Then we can talk more."

He ushered Alfred out of the seat, ignoring his complaints, and steered him through the hallway and towards the front door, which opened of its own accord. "I trust you'll be able to find your way back alright, the fae will guide you if you get too lost, and-"

"Wait!" Alfred spun round, effectively silencing him. "How do I know you're telling the truth, that you'll still be here tomorrow?" He studied the other blond's eyes, noticing an unexpected flash of hurt in their depths.

Arthur smiled sadly, almost bitterly. "I suppose you'll just have to trust me." The door swung shut on his face.

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**Urgh, sorry ^^; This chapter was really hard to write, for some reason, and I'm still not too pleased with it...but I FINALLY FINISHED IT, HUZZAH! I've had so much revision and art coursework to finish, it's not even funny.**

**I apologise for the failure at writing a Yorkshire accent...it's really hard to do...**

**Please review!**

**~Chinquix  
**


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